


rage is a quiet thing

by vachement



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode Fix-It: s01e06 Rare Species, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, First Kiss, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, just a tiny bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23373265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vachement/pseuds/vachement
Summary: “If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”Jaskier figured he must have been a masochist, to hand Geralt his heart over and over again, knowing well that his Witcher would throw it away without a care. He had long since made peace with that, had hardened his heart as best he could in anticipation of inevitable and everlasting rebuttal.It wasn’t even like Jaskier didn’t know heartbreak. He fell in love every day, and he fell out of love the day after. He’d had his heart shattered to pieces, by women, by men, by the cruelty of the world itself. It was part of life; he considered himself lucky to be able to love at all. There were worse fates than a life of lost love, provided he had the love to lose in the first place.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 668





	rage is a quiet thing

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this all out in like a 4 hour sprint and now it's 3 am, so i hope it's ok!!
> 
> enjoy :))

_ “If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!” _

Jaskier figured he must have been a masochist, to hand Geralt his heart over and over again, knowing well that his Witcher would throw it away without a care. He had long since made peace with that, had hardened his heart as best he could in anticipation of inevitable and everlasting rebuttal.

It wasn’t even like Jaskier didn’t know heartbreak. He fell in love every day, and he fell out of love the day after. He’d had his heart shattered to pieces, by women, by men, by the cruelty of the world itself. It was part of life; he considered himself lucky to be able to love at all. There were worse fates than a life of lost love, provided he had the love to lose in the first place.

Contrary to popular belief, Jaskier knew when he wasn’t wanted. He had a tendency to stick around, anyway, but he wasn’t oblivious to how endearment so easily bled into irritation, then into hate in his companions. Geralt, for a while, had been the exception, but Jaskier saw now that he never had been; love had just blinded Jaskier into being a  _ fool _ . 

And what an idiot he was, to constantly trail after the Witcher! Jaskier had never been the type to sit back and shut up while someone insulted him, not before Geralt. No, before Geralt, Jaskier would’ve yelled back, would’ve shouted,  _ maybe I’m holding the shovel to dig you out, you absolute asshole! Maybe I’m the only one consistently on your side, no matter what! Maybe blaming me for your problems is just you dodging responsibility as usual!  _ He could’ve been cruel right back, could’ve cut Geralt to ribbons with his words, like he would’ve done to  _ anyone else  _ who insulted him. But love had made him soft, softer than he’d ever wanted to be. So he’d stood there and taken it.

The worst part was, he’d do the same all over again. He couldn’t hurt Geralt, not purposely, not with malicious intent.

With that in mind, it was easy, easier than it should’ve been, to leave his travel companion of two decades, the man he loved like he loved the sun and the stars, and walk down the mountain alone. Any time his resolve weakened, any time he turned to run a lyric by his best critic, he reminded himself of the flash of Geralt’s amber eyes as he tore into Jaskier’s still-beating heart, and kept walking away from the piece of himself that was in the dust at the Witcher’s feet. 

Jaskier knew when he wasn’t wanted, and Geralt didn’t want him. If life could give him one blessing, indeed.

He made it down the mountain, alone and unfollowed, and kept walking. If it happened to be the opposite direction that he knew Geralt had been planning to go, well, that was his own business. Their paths should’ve diverged a long time ago, Jaskier realized. He was just doing what he should’ve been doing all along. 

It was lonelier, walking by himself, but Jaskier had his lute and his songbook, and what else did he need, really?

\---

Jaskier had fully expected to never see Geralt of Rivia again. 

It had been a year since the mountain, a year into his new post-Geralt life, and Jaskier was doing  _ fine _ . He’d taught for a season at Oxenfurt, had grown restless, and had started traveling around the country again, singing to anyone who would listen. It was a good life, if lonely at points. He’d stopped looking for monsters and adventure, content to stay within the safe walls of an inn and perform songs that tasted like ash in his mouth. 

He’d just wrapped up one such performance, ending with the crowd favorite  _ Toss a Coin _ and trying to suppress the urge to throw up. A “friend of humanity”? Jaskier wasn’t sure what he’d been on when he’d written that line. Geralt had no need for friends, especially not of the human kind.

(That was a lie; he knew  _ exactly  _ why he’d written it. Because Geralt was possibly the best man he’d ever met, the kind of man who’d fight to his final breath to protect a world that hated him, and Jaskier had wanted to honor that. But it was easier to pretend, to stoke the flames of resentment in his chest so he didn’t have to feel the love.)

He was doing his best to get solidly drunk when a body slid into the seat next to him. Jaskier stiffened; he’d know the clinking of Geralt’s armor anywhere. He resolutely didn’t look at the Witcher, choosing instead to drain his ale and gesture for another one. 

Geralt hadn’t spoken yet, and Jaskier mentally decided that he was  _ not  _ going to be the one to break the silence. It was Geralt’s turn to speak, god damn it. Jaskier had come to terms over that long year with the fact that it hadn’t been his fault: Geralt had been lashing out, and Jaskier had been collateral. So he wasn’t going to apologize for  _ shit _ , not until he heard what Geralt had to say. 

Jaskier got through two more ales (with time to reflect that it possibly wasn’t the best idea to get drunk, throw out that thought altogether, and keep drinking) before Geralt opened his mouth. 

“Hello, Jaskier,” he said finally, his voice a familiar rasp that had something settling deep in Jaskier’s bones, something he hadn’t even realized was missing. “It’s been awhile.”

“It has,” Jaskier agreed, pasting on his best smile. He didn’t know what he wanted Geralt to say, if he was being honest. It was safer to just flee, to strike this memory from his mind and go back to his Geralt-free life. Jaskier had never pretended not to be a coward, so he stood up shakily. “Nice seeing you, but I’m off. See you around, Geralt.”

Geralt grabbed his wrist before he could leave. Jaskier raised an eyebrow at him, and the Witcher dropped him like he was burned. “I think…” Geralt cleared his throat. “I think we need to talk.”

“Mm, a whole sentence,” Jaskier rolled his eyes, the ale making his brain fuzzier than usual. “That’s a new development; you don’t normally grace me with those. Well, come on, I’m not getting into this with you in the middle of the inn. I have a room upstairs.”

He walked away without waiting to see if Geralt was following. He tried to convince his hammering heart that it didn’t matter to him either way. Either the Witcher would come or he wouldn’t, either he’d say the right thing or he wouldn’t, and Jaskier would be okay regardless. He’d survived a year on his own, he could do it again, and again, and again, as long as he needed to.

His hand shook when he unlocked the door to his room. He could feel the heat of Geralt standing behind him as he pushed open the door and prayed that Geralt wouldn’t comment on how fast his heart was beating. Everything was fine; Geralt would say his piece and leave Jaskier in peace. Jaskier clung to that as Geralt stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

“You said we needed to talk,” Jaskier said after a moment of silence. “So, talk. I’m listening, for now.”

Geralt watched him, amber eyes softer than Jaskier had ever seen them. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “For what I said. On the mountain, last year. You didn’t deserve it.”

“No, no I didn’t,” Jaskier laughed lowly. Resentment (mixed with a healthy dose of tortured love) bubbled to the surface, every emotion that he’d been shoving down since their separation making his voice shake with anger. That, plus the alcohol loosening his tongue, wasn’t the best combination for a civil discussion, but Jaskier figured he was owed his turn to say what he wanted. “Because guess what? I am a fucking  _ delight  _ to be around, even if you don’t want to see that. I gave you  _ everything _ , all that I fucking had, and what did you do? Throw me away because  _ you  _ fucked up with Yennefer? No shit I didn’t deserve that.”

“I was lashing out,” Geralt weathered Jaskier’s tirade with a hung head, but he didn’t try to contradict it. And for that, Jaskier was grateful. “I’m sorry. And I’m sorry that it took this long for me to tell you.”

“I don’t need your apology,” Jaskier lied through gritted teeth. He was on a roll, now; he couldn’t have stopped the words if he tried. “You didn’t break me, you didn’t even damage me in any way that matters. It stung my pride, yes, but  _ you did not break me _ .” He took a long breath and closed his eyes. He didn’t need to see Geralt’s reaction to the next bit. “I loved you, you know? You were the center of my world, my sun and my stars, and I thought you at least tolerated me back. But I handed you my heart, over and over again, and you stomped on it. You took my love and you threw it away. I thought you’d broken my heart for good for a minute, but I’m still choosing every day to fall in love with something, and I will keep choosing to love. You can’t take that from me.”

Jaskier broke off, panting. He knew his face was flushed with anger, but it felt good to finally get everything out, like lancing a festering wound. Geralt just stared at him, and Jaskier couldn’t help but to want a reaction from the Witcher. He’d just poured out his heart and soul, and Geralt just stood there?

“You loved me?” he asked after a long, long time.

“Yes,”Jaskier answered succinctly. “And you may be the only one who didn’t know.”

Now that he’d said his piece, he was much calmer. The coiled tension in his limbs hadn’t quite gone away, but he was able to think without a red haze clouding everything. Jaskier would take it as a win.

He hadn’t realized quite how  _ angry  _ he’d been at Geralt until right then, having hid the anger under layers of sadness. He’d refused to dwell on it for a year, had shoved down the memory of Geralt’s venomous words with a ferocity that he usually only used for memories of his childhood. But it had simmered, as rage was wont to do, carving a place deep inside him where it had rested dormant, until stupid  _ Geralt  _ had to come back and disturb it. 

“ _ Loved _ me,” Geralt repeated, an odd note in his voice. Jaskier had never seen the Witcher look so off-kilter, like he was adrift in a strange sea with no sign of the shore. It was… disconcerting. “Past tense?”

And that was the question, wasn’t it? Because Jaskier had no idea. On the one hand, Geralt had thrown him aside like garbage and had taken a full year to find him again (but Jaskier was no stranger to harsh words spoken in anger, and he definitely knew how hard it was to apologize to someone he cared about after them. It wasn’t fair to hold that against Geralt for the rest of time). On the other, well… loving Geralt had changed him in a way that he couldn’t quite describe. He didn’t love Geralt like he loved his nightly companions, but in the way he loved beautiful, deadly things. He welcomed the pain, the hurt, the fear, with open arms. He loved Geralt like a thousand scars, like walking into a fire, like cutting off pieces of himself. He had loved Geralt with an intensity that had scared him, a year ago.

And a year later, he still loved him the same way. 

“Love you,” Jaskier corrected with a soft shake of his head. He couldn’t look Geralt in the eyes. He didn’t want the Witcher’s pity. “Present tense.”

Jaskier had made his peace with the fact that Geralt would never love him back. He would’ve settled for,  _ cherished _ , a friendship, if that was what the other man wanted to give him, and he honestly thought that he had, before the mountain. But he wasn’t going to lie, not anymore.

“Jaskier…” Geralt sounded  _ gutted _ . Jaskier had never doubted that Witchers could feel, but he hadn’t known how  _ intensely  _ Geralt’s emotions could be displayed in his voice. Jaskier couldn’t look at him, didn’t want to look at him, so he walked over to the window and stared at the sky. It was dark enough that he could make out hundreds of stars, so familiar from nights on the road, Geralt pointing out constellations gruffly any time Jaskier had asked. 

“Well, if that’s all,” Jaskier said as cheerily as he was able, still carefully averting his eyes from where Geralt was standing. He gestured towards the door. He wasn’t angry anymore, he was just…  _ hollow _ . It had been cathartic to get everything out, but it left him with no sense of direction, no idea where to go next. “I’d like to get some sleep tonight. If you don’t mind?”

Faster than Jaskier could track, Geralt had moved and was standing in front of him. Jaskier didn’t flinch; it had been a year, but he could never be afraid of his Witcher. 

“Wait, please,” Geralt asked, and Jaskier really couldn’t deny him anything, not when he sounded like that. He sounded almost heartbroken and that, more than anything, made Jaskier’s eyes lift. “Please.”

Golden eyes met blue ones. “I’m waiting,” Jaskier said softly, gently, like a promise he was whispering to his Witcher.

“You can never know how sorry I am,” Geralt rumbled, his hand coming up to Jaskier’s cheek. It wasn’t an expectant touch, it was just… there. “As soon as you walked away, I regretted it. I wanted to follow, but I thought you needed space. And then you were gone, and I tricked myself into thinking that you just needed more space from me, that I would apologize when you were ready, when really, I was being a coward. I was  _ scared _ , Jaskier, because the moment you left, I realized I couldn’t live without you.”

“You seem to be doing fine,” Jaskier noted, but he didn’t pull away. “It’s been a year; you’re still alive.”

Geralt shook his head. “I thought Witchers couldn’t feel,” he whispered. “But I have never felt worse than when I remembered you were no longer by my side, that I had driven you away for good. That my words had brought you pain. That  _ I  _ had brought you pain. Do you know why?”

Jaskier’s mouth was dry. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from speaking. “Why?”

“Because I love you, Jaskier,” Geralt said simply, no artifice on his face. “And I realized it as soon as I pushed you away. Because missing you was like missing a limb. It was like missing a whole part of myself, and I had no one but me to blame. If that’s not love, what is?”

“You can’t-- you don’t love me,” Jaskier denied, stumbling back a little from Geralt’s earnest gaze. “You missed the company, sure, but you don’t love me.”

“I do,” Geralt said, stepping closer. 

“No, no, I would’ve known,” said Jaskier, near hysterical. “I would’ve known if you were in love with me.”

“I didn’t even know myself until you were gone,” Geralt admitted with a sad shrug. “And then it was too late. Because I was too scared to go after you.”

Jaskier gritted his teeth. “I am so angry at you,” he poked a finger in Geralt’s chest. “I’d forgiven you the moment I got off that godforsaken mountain. Yeah, I’m still pissed off, and had you tried to speak to me right then, I would’ve broken my hand on your face, but you’ve always had my forgiveness, Geralt. But are you seriously telling me you’ve been in love with me for a year and you didn’t  _ say anything _ ?”

“Jaskier, you terrify me,” Geralt said honestly. There was the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “Me. A bard who can’t defend himself for shit terrifies the big bad Witcher?”

Geralt nodded. “You’re the most terrifying person I know,” he agreed. “Because no matter what destiny throws at you, you smile and you keep singing. Because you have kindness for even those who don’t deserve it. Because you make me… you make me want things I can’t have.”

“And who says you can’t have them?” Jaskier challenged, getting back onto familiar footing that was at once all too new.

“Jaskier, I hurt you,” Geralt looked positively wretched. “I don’t expect you to want me, not after everything. I just wanted to apologize to you.”

Jaskier took another step forward, close enough that their chests were practically touching. “Geralt,” he said firmly. “I forgive you. I said my piece, you said yours, and  _ I forgive you _ . I don’t hold grudges, you know that. Besides, it’s my choice whether I want you or not, don’t you think?”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier knew that hum; that was Geralt’s  _ you’ve outmaneuvered me and I don’t like it so I’m going to stay stoically silent until you either take pity on me and give in or do what you were going to do anyway  _ hum. It was nice to see that he hadn’t lost his translation skills in their year apart.

“As usual, I have to do all the work in this relationship,” Jaskier huffed, and before Geralt could respond, he kissed him. 

It took a second before Geralt got with the program, but as soon as he started kissing back, Jaskier felt his brain melt out of his ears. It was a whirlwind of lips and teeth and tongues and Jaskier felt totally, wholly  _ surrounded  _ by Geralt. The Witcher’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him impossibly closer, but as gentle as they always were.Jaskier was fully prepared to stay there forever, kissing Geralt, and he cursed his stupid human lungs when he had to pull away to breathe. 

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said again, and if Jaskier didn’t know him better, he would’ve thought Geralt’s eyes looked suspiciously shiny.

“I forgive you,” Jaskier repeated, laying his forehead against Geralt’s. “We’re okay, Geralt. We’re okay.”

The next kiss felt like coming home.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think!
> 
> comments and kudos make me happy :))


End file.
